Coffee and Automobiles

So I can't sleep tonight, surely a side-effect of downing liters upon liters of coffee. But the coffee seems moot now, now that I find myself filling in a blog post rather than my original intention of catching up with tons upon tons of work that's piled up the past few weeks. But that's life, I guess.

The truth? I love my job, I love the new challenges and all the crap that finds their way on top of the growing pile on my desk. Seriously, this job presents several opportunities that are way over what most people would expect out of me during my extended stay in college.

So why am I not burying my nose in work-related stuff? Because I'm distracted. I took to the weighing scale this morning and found myself a tad over my ideal weight. By "tad", I mean several pounds, several SEVERAL pounds. So here I am about to launch into another fit of self-pity and wallow in the shame of not being able to close that annoying little top button on my shirt.

I suspect that the excess weight has something to do with the amount of food that I've been eating lately. Somehow, I've rediscovered carbohydrates and chocolates and sugar, those bad little molecules that have no other purpose than to make shrinks and personal trainers filthy rich. And the total lack of physical exercise isn't helping either. I tried to jog this afternoon, all I could manage was a bouncy stroll around the neighborhood. It's depressing when you're "jogging" and an old man walking a dog overtakes you on the sidewalk.

What the heck am I doing with my life?

*****

I kinda promised myself that I would get myself a new car by the middle of next year. It's one of those goals that you randomly get after some random guy on the street hands you a flyer. So I got around to actually choosing what kind of car I should get myself, with the help of some equally chain-smoking officemates who didn't really have any other non-work topic to discuss.

Personally, I didn't care what car I would get. After clunking around in the ancient barrel of bolts that I use to get around, anything with actual shock absorbers would be an upgrade. But apparently, this was the sort of matter-of-life-and-death decision that you had to make way in advance. My whole person would be dictated by this materialistic choice.

For example, I mulled getting a compact Toyota... something that wasn't flashy but ever-reliable. But apparently this was a horrible choice. I had to get something that stuck out from the crowd... sort of like the hipster equivalent in the automotive industry. According to these industry experts, getting something that millions of other people trusted with their lives was not good.

For the sake of being agreeable, I pretend-decided to get the nifty new Ford. Never mind that spare parts would cost me an arm and a leg, or that it would guzzle away paycheck after paycheck in gas and maintenance. This car was something that would set me apart from the crowd and put me above every Tom, Dick and Harry. I was agreeing to this just because my ultimate decision was 7 months away, assuming that I've be able to scrape enough savings from my teeny-tiny salary.

Anyway, the point I'm trying to drive (pun, hah!) is that sometimes, a lot of people's decisions have nothing to do with what they needed but what they wanted to become. And this came with a hefty price tag, I might add. I do not want to be marginalized by this twisted logic, and in a few months I would still seriously contemplate "settling" for that Toyota. But  how much of an impact would this have on my social standing, I wonder?

Slammed

This morning, I was having a discussion regarding some procedure at work. Just as I was giving my 2 cents worth, the door was literally shut in my face. Intentional or not, there is just no going past this incident.

*****

I consider myself to be a bit on the quiet side. I don't like giving my opinions unsolicited, and when I do I try to be very careful in what I say, lest I offend or irritate someone. I was never the first person to raise my hand in class, and I am not one for lengthy speeches and drama. I disdain all manner of grandstanding, preferring to keep to the sidelines and not stand out like a sore thumb in a crowd.

But when someone asks me what I think, I expect them to listen. This doesn't mean that they have to agree with what I say or change their minds on my account, just give me due attention and try to respect my opinion and beliefs.

*****

Naturally, I was pissed off all morning. Well to be honest, I'm still pissed. That was just a rude thing to do to anyone. When I was a child, I'd get a good whack to my bottom just for turning my back on my parents. And in school, you'd get a chalk-board eraser missile cruising towards you at warp speed for simply not paying attention. Why isn't this general knowledge?

Could it be because I belong in the selling industry? Unlike some professions, sales is something that is intristically human. You have to get out there, listen to your client, see the expression on his face, get in their head and appeal to whatever value system they have in place. It's not about how many flattering words you could put out there about what you are selling, rather it is how you choose to present your product according to what matters to the other guy.

Another thing about the sales profession, there is no bigger failure than to have the door closed in your face. Why do you think those door-to-door guys wedge their foot in the door?

*****

In the end, I know this shouldn't matter as much in a professional sense. We get used to being rejected during our lifetime, with little or no consequence to how we perceive ourselves. It's the manner of how we are rejected and dismissed that strikes a chord in us. And on this occasion, it stings like hell.

Tick tock

In this age of instant messaging and mobile communications, waiting has ceased to be the fine art of self-expression that it used to be. Yes, I believe it is a form of self-expression - as ridiculous as it may sound.

Back in the day, before mobile communications, there was the need to keep true to your calendar. Heck, I even lived phone-less during the dark days when only one out of five households had a landline, which sorta doubled the pressure. As you can imagine, setting appointments and keeping them were quite the challenge. When you told someone to meet you at one o'clock in front of the bookstore on Saturday, you damn well had to be there. Your ability to keep the appointments you make was a measure by which you were judged in all other aspects. Thus, people learned to be accountable for themselves at the risk of everyone having a negative image of you.

As communications improved with technology, accountability took a backseat to convenience. People now had the power to cancel and postpone their appointments and dates in no time, and without the prejudice. The term "something came up" became an acceptable excuse, that stood to mean there were other more urgent matters to attend to, thereby sending the subtle message to the other party that they were inferior to you.

This irritates me no end.

*****

In a way, we have lost respect for time in this world of instant everything. People seem to have forgotten that time is something that is given, and once it is committed there is no getting it back. The relative convenience of texting someone that you can't make it 10 minutes before call time or that you will be late is alarming.

For instance, when you set a date for 4o'clock and the person texts you to make it 5o'clock at 3:45, that's just rude in my book. So imagine how it feels when someone tells you to wait for their text to meet them. While they are doing tasks relevent to them and at their own schedule, you're stuck there trying to guess whether you still have time to darn your socks or you should get moving already, anticipating that text message.

*****

Maybe I'm just old-fashioned. It is true that technology has allowed us to accomplish a lot more in an hour than what we could have done in a day, say a decade ago. But it just bugs me at what price we have to pay in terms of respect and consideration to others for all this efficiency. It bugs me that people today tend to keep everything hanging, and have done away with setting definite dates and deadlines. It bugs me when people rearrange their calendars on a whim, not considering how it affects other people's schedules.

Of course, I could just be turning into a grumpy old man. I mean, a lot of things still get done and people are getting better at compromising to move forward. Maybe you lose an hour here and there, but the time you gain with all this progress might have just made it up and more anyway. But I just like to romanticize the concept of giving due respect to the time that we commit to ourselves and to others. There certainly is nothing wrong with keeping things on a fixed timetable, I'm sure there is always some room for flexibility if we give due contingencies to them.

*****

In the end, what I'm truly harping about here isn't really time per se. But rather our commitment and recognition of others and their importance to us. You can always earn more money, eat at that fancy restaurant any other day, play that computer game another time. But the time that we waste on people who do not recognize the same amount of importance for us, I don't think we can ever get that back.

Which reminds me of a true story which I find encapsulates how I feel about waiting. This story about a dog in Japan who waits each and every day for his master at the train station, even after his master's death. The dog waited at the precise time each day until the day of his own death 9 years after.

For the dog, the exercise of waiting for his master was certainly not a waste of time, but rather a tribute to the man who cared for him all his life and an extraordinary display of loyalty. The act of waiting, even in futility, can be the highest form of respect one can give. If only others can learn to use their time to show respect and consideration for the time of others, I'm sure the world would be ticking forward in harmony, like clockwork.

Because my boss says there's no such word as "unproductive"

The IT guys here at the office have been slipping, usually I wouldn't be ablt to open my blog on my office computer. Well, now that I'm here I might as well let the lot of you know that I'm not actually working at this point.

*****

To be fair, I can't really say I've been working the whole week. Sure, I've been able to churn out what's been expected by way of reports and answered emails, but nothing has been at par with what I have been doing the past months. Why? Can't say, really. Must be the really crappy weather we've been having lately.

Or maybe it's my vision, I've scheduled myself a check-up with the optometrist (or opthamologist? I can't really figure the difference) tomorrow. My right eye has been bad at focusing, forcing me to either squint or read stuff skewed sideways. You can imagine how awkward it's been when reading lengthy emails or blogs about eating salamanders. It's been going on for a time now, but this week has been particularly bothering. During a meeting last Monday, people actually chuckled each time I closed my right eyelid when reading through my presentation. I had them all fired, of course.

*****

I'm kind of excited to have my vision checked. My bet is that there isn't really anything wrong and the eye-guy (which could be either an opthalmologist or optometrist) will attribute the recent termination of my staff to stress or a psychological preconditioning of sorts. If this happens to be the case, I've kept my trusty lighter and a gallon of kerosene handy to burn down the clinic. I've always been suspicious of doctors who cite such nonsense as cause for illness. To me, that just seems lazy. Plus, it breeds a whole generation of crybabies who whine about just about anything that is slightly inconvenient for them.

When I was a kid, it was all simpler. If your vision was impaired, it's because you are an old geezer with cataracts or you watched Captain Planet too close to the television screen. The flu was because you were dumb enough to play in a thunderstorm. And what is now known as carpal tunnel symbol was a mark of distinction for jerking off excessively. These days, it's never anyone's fault. It's because the man rode you hard at school or the office, causing you all sorts of physical and mental turmoil ultimately leading to stress-induced what-have-yous.

Don't even get me started with the whole EQ/IQ thing. Anytime spoiled brats want to get their hands on dessert before dinner, some parents have attributed it to their built-in EQ levels. And if the kids are slow with their schoolwork, they've been unjustly dealt with lower IQ's so a medal for everyone is a good way to compensate. Back in my day, if you got your hands caught in the cookie jar, you got yourself a red bum. If you got bad grades, you were lazy. No one ever screamed that they needed to have their cookie right now because they had low EQ, you want it pronto... you face the consequences. And a month without the playstation was a month with more time to catch up with your studies.

Am I the only one who thinks that not spoiling kids and teaching them all about the consequences of their actions when they did bad is okay? Maybe its because I'm not a parent yet, but I just can't understand it. I've paid my fair share of pain and suffering to be what I am today. Granted that I may be a total loser with nothing better to do than write this blog, but in general I think I'm doing okay for myself.

*****

Come to think of it, though, I've heard my parents talk of the same gripes with my generation throughout my life under parental control. The "In my day, we had to..." speeches ran twice daily. The "You kids are so lucky these days..." thrice, and the "You ingrateful son-of-a-bitch..." rants every 30 minutes. I always counter with the "It was different back then because..." rebuttal, which is kinda whiny, isn't it? So are we just running full circle here?

Losing My Opinion

Sometimes, having and expressing your own opinion is like setting a trap for yourself. This has been happening to me a lot lately. The office is one prime example, when you try to get an opinion out and everyone else pounces on it. The first few times, you try to struggle and assert yourself. You defend your opinions, point out that it is borne out of a personal right and it may or may not be taken by others as their own. Then it happens again, and again, and again until you find yourself worn down and tired and wondering if it was worth opening your mouth for. It has now come to a point that I hesitate putting stuff out there. There's nothing to it, actually. Whatever gains you manage from being your own person and sharing your individuality, you lose a lot more of your energy asserting and defending it. An easy choice. Transforming myself into a zombie. And then I remembered this blog... Why yes! I still do have one, don't I? An avenue where I have always spat out the most trivial of thoughts of mine. And almost no one could complain! How long has it been since I've typed 2 sentences on this blog? While the real world me has lost his cojones, content to nod in agreement to almost anything - the path of least resistance, virtual writer me can spew out whatever nonsense I could muster and not have to give a rat's ass about whatever people think! Must be one of the reasons I loved writing in the first place. I missed this blog! :)

Four Saturdays

I'm listening to REM's Nightswimming while writing this, so you kinda get what mood I'm in. To compound matters further, a I'm drinking a shot of brandy from a whisky glass. Now we got ourselves some serious writing for sure.

But what to write about?

I imagine a ton of writers have asked the same question of themselves, and a notable few have been able to churn out some classics. Of course a general majority may have just wasted a few hours tapping on the keys only to throw their supposed masterpiece into the bin, which is not far from happening tonight.

Well anyway, on this chilly night, I resolve to end the writer's block that has plagued me for the past months and finally, finally post something. Of course, I doubt anybody'd read this long forgotten blog by now, which is really quite convenient for my purposes.

You've probably noticed the title, yeah that's the thing in bold letters above the post. It's a title that I came up with about 2 weeks ago. I've been carrying it around since then, pretty sure it holds the key to some mystic force that would unfold an opus. I doubt it would, though... the brandy's telling me so. But just to humor myself, I continue tapping anyway.

*****

So maybe I should start with how I thought up the title. That should get some momentum going. Well, as I already mentioned, it started 2 weeks ago - on a Saturday of course. The clock read 1am, I'm chugging some beer with a friend and a bunch of her friends whom I met for the first time. This I normally don't do, since I swore off puking in front of strangers. But then there was nothing better to do (unless I count watching porn online) so what the heck, I told myself. Well, so it was 1:01am and this guy brings out a deck of tarot cards and starts reading into the future.

Now, I don't claim to believe all that psychic mumbo jumbo or whatever else you call it, but I had nothing better to do (I was out, so no porn) anyway. I shuffled, shuffled a bit more and cut the deck. Then I was asked to lay out a certain number of cards on the table - and my future now lay before me in glossy paper cards.

*****

I woke up around 7:00am that morning. It was still Saturday. Unsurprisingly there was no breakfast waiting for me, just the sorry instant decaffeinated coffee that required a bit of effort to prep up. My sorry life indeed. But I had to make the effort not to waste away in bed that morning. I needed to get myself to our meeting place. How romantic that sounds, but it's quite literally where we were supposed to meet - because she asked me to drive for her. She could drive of course, but there was this problem with finding parking space. I was to be there as both driver and valet.

I wanted to talk myself out of it, because it was Saturday after all - the day I proclaimed would forever be reserved for spending the daytime in bed. But for some reason, this day was different. Today was something I was looking forward to the whole week.

Okay fine, for starters it was because I got to see her again. We haven't met up in a while. Not that that little fact bothered her as much as it did me, mind you. But once you've set your mind to believe that every chance might be the one that finally pays off, you kinda get your hopes up a bit.

I got there as slowly as I could. Not late or anything, but just some stupid need to make the most of the time daydreaming and conjuring up best scenarios. The bus helped out a lot, taking its time creeping through the empty avenue making sure each and every potential passenger was stopped for. I got there just in time, turns out the itinerary had changed. She had to go to the hospital to check on her mom.

No, today wasn't gonna be that day.

I had a choice, take the next bus home or come with. Well, as much as I wanted to crawl back into bed the polite thing to do was go with her, I supposed. And so I did.

I must sound so cruel and heartless to you folks. Though at times I am, this was not one of them. Truth is, I've absolutely no use in the hospital for her or her mother. I'd just be in the way. I just tagged along to say hi to her mom, who I figure would remember me as that poor sap hanging around her daughter.

Well anyway, there I was sitting alone at the lobby, waiting for nothing. Things happened so fast that I was unable to take leave, until I had no choice but wait for anyone to come out so I could excuse myself. The vending machine was two floors down, I can't risk going there and missing the chance to say goodbye. I had to endure watching the cute nurses gossip at the triage for a full hour, such an ordeal.

Finally, she came out. I took my leave and proceeded back to my miserable life.

*****

It was afternoon by the time I willed myself to take another shower. I had a date, well a friendly, platonic afternoon date. That mattered little, though. I got out of the shower and realized there wasn't anything to eat. That wasn't really a surprise but it's still disheartening.

So for the day, I only had a cup of decaf.

Good thing was, we were meeting at the foodcourt. So I guess I can grab a sandwich or something when I got there. Not a problem.

Let me tell you a bit about this other girl - she's absolutely the sweetest thing. So sweet, in fact that I have trouble imagining her in a porn flick. I'd start to think of her in a PG18 kind of way and end up slapping myself for such a blasphemous transgression. Which kind of sucks, but heck if there was absolutely anything that I could hold sacred, then I know I've still got a sliver of a chance of getting into heaven. So she was my ticket, in a twisted kind of way.

I'm such a gentleman, ain't I?

I get there, holding an orange. Yeah, an orange. A few days ago, we were texting and she "sounded" all happy and giddy. When I asked her why, she said she had some oranges that afternoon. I sorta promised that the next time we'd meet I'd make sure to give her an orange so I would be sure she'd be happy that day. Yeah, that's how dorky I am around her.

So anyway, here I was holding on to the orange for dear life. I was holding on to it for a full hour now, through the bus ride and while making my way inside the maze they call a mall. I got a few looks from strangers, but what did I care? I was here on a mission - to make her smile and say how sweet I was.

Back to the story, I'm there, holding the orange in my left hand and waving hi to her, and her friends. Apparently, she and I had a different idea of what a date is supposed to be like. Her friends saw the orange in my hand, I almost juiced it right there and then.

Looking back, they took it well. Better than I did, really. I'm not sure if they had any reason to take it otherwise but I pretended that they were as bummed as I was at the beginning, having to make small talk with "orange man". So I saw an opportunity, I asked them if we should order some food.

"Didn't you have lunch yet?"
"Oh yeah, I did. But maybe you wanna grab some snacks?" At this point, I'm not entirely sure why the hell I had to lie. Probably some part of me wanted her not to worry about me. All the rest of me was grumbling in hunger, though.
"We were thinking about going back to see our house. They haven't been there yet."

What I really wanted to say was: Fuck them! I'm hungry and I wanna woof down a friggin' steak, okay?!

"Oh ok, sure let's do that!" A collective groan echoed within each cell of my body. What a pushover! I probably haven't mentioned this, but she lives an hour away. I wanted to take back the orange from her and bite through it like an apple and swallow without chewing.

So there we were, lounging around her house. Them laughing it up recalling those good old days. I managed to smile despite my grumbling tummy. When they finally asked if we should go have a bite somewhere, I nearly bolted out the door like a dog in heat.

*****

I was on a bus again, heading to the pool hall. Me and some friends of mine have this weekly game going. There's really not much to it, just shooting some balls while yapping about whatever caught our fancy. There was something that I looked forward to tonight, though. I could give you three guesses, but I reckon you only need one.

And there she was, handling the cue stick with such care and finesse that I looked like a caveman swinging a club around the pool hall. It amazes me how such small slender hands could beat the crap out of me at a game that is generally thought of as masculine (c'mon, ball and sticks?!). The only strategy that was left to me really was to act all goofy and shit that they'd find me cute enough to spare from humiliation. But girls nowadays? They kick a man while he's down and out for the count, just for giggles and shit.

Well, there was booze, which was a good enough consolation prize as any.

The deeper this Saturday night got, the more pathetic I was becoming. Surprisingly, it turns out okay. She had correctly judged that I was in no way a threat to her ultimate goal of world domination, and we got closer. Kinda like a defenseless puppy or kitten.

Whatever works is fine with me, I always say.

*****

I sort of skipped the part about the tarot cards, didn't I?

Well, I picked out seven cards, four of which were women. They were pretty powerful chicks if I should say so (without offending the fairer sex as much as I could handle). Apparently I am cursed, probably even destined, to submit to the will of these women without a chance at redemption.

At the end though, there is a chance that I could emerge all the better. It boils down to how I wanted to spend the rest of my life.

Cruelly, this is as far as the tarot cards would tell me. No descriptions, no dates, no identities. All it would say is that in the coming days, a choice has to be made. Unfortunately, I have to do the choosing.

*****

:-)